


Close your eyes

by wordfrenzy (orphan_account)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tony Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/wordfrenzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony refuses to sleep. Not from nightmares, or his anxiety, but he thinks that if he closes his eyes, he'll wake up from the dream he believes he lives in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in about two hours, so I'm _so_ sorry for how bad it is, I just needed to crack something out to warm up my muse. Got some longer fanfics coming soon, and I want them to be better quality than _this_.
> 
> Unbeta'd, as usual.

It’s been routine for months now.

Usually, not sleeping hadn’t been much of a problem—he’d grown used to it. He’s lived off late nights and obscene amounts of coffee to keep him awake. It’s worse now. Miraculously, the ability to function still stands, even with the build of sleep deprivation and buzz of caffeine.

And it’s because of Steve.

Days full of bliss, and yet feels so unreal. Which is why he refuses to sleep.

If he closes his eyes for more than an hour, there’s a gnawing fear at the base of his spine. A fear that he’ll wake up from what must be a dream where Steve actually loves him. That he’s married to one of the greatest guys he knows, and Tony is desperately clinging to that fact, which aside from Pepper, is the person who he loves most and wants for the rest of his life.

But he doesn’t deserve him.

“Tony.”

The smoke heating his face brings him back from his thoughts, the searing of his smouldering iron leaving black marks on the table. Steve stands ahead of him, arms crossed, but not at all as scary as he tries, from his mussed hair and slight blush to his cheeks, sweatpants and a shirt too tight. Tony’s chest aches at the sight.

In the first few years of being together, these thoughts never burdened him, too caught up in honeymoon phase of lust and early stages of love. As time passed, after they’d married, the reality dawned on him, based on the belief that he’s never deserved any form of happiness. The same with Pepper—perfect, amazing Pepper, way too good for him and could find someone better. Hence why he’d been so amazed that Steve confessed his feelings to him not long after breaking up with her, and how after some time, Tony’s feelings grew for him.

And yet, though those feelings haven’t changed, the negative thoughts remained.

He blinks away the blur in his vision, slurs, “Oh, hey Steve, Stevie, Steve-O.”

“How long have you been down here?”

“Well.“ He checks his wrist. “I don’t have a watch, but if I had to guess I’d say, oh, a couple of hours, or more. When was breakfast?”

“Twelve hours ago.”

“See, I was close—hey, Steve, what’re you doing? Don’t—Steve you’re _manhandling_ me.”

Steve ignores him, hefting Tony up onto his shoulder and climbing upstairs. When they reach their bedroom—eventually Tony stopping his struggles to escape—he drops Tony onto the bed, knocking the air from his lungs.

“There, you’ve brought me upstairs, played your little game of throwing Tony over your shoulder, but I need to finish work—”

“You’re not going anywhere—”

“Is that an order?”

“If it has to be.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “And if I don’t listen?”

He shrugs, crossing his arms again, and this time, he looks more like Captain Rogers than Steve—sweet, slightly innocent Steve who gives the biggest hugs and grins so much it kind of makes Tony sick sometimes. His mouth is in a tight line. “I could do this all night, Tony.”

A different tactic, then, which is one Tony knows he shouldn’t try, but the only way to creep his way out of this situation is by doing the one he’s best at: being a shameless flirt. Years of practice, and what Steve has always had trouble with declining his advances. Hence all the times they'd stayed in bed for hours, with glorious morning sex and bruised skin and hickeys sucked into their necks. 

Wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist, he murmurs, “I know what else we could do all night.” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath, a pair of hands gripping Tony’s hips tight, but he pushes him away, putting distance between them. “Nice try. Maybe we could, if you tell me what’s been wrong with you these past few months.”

“Wait. You noticed?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “We’re married. Of course I noticed.”

“And you didn’t think to say anything? At all?”

“I didn’t want to pressure you.”

And that’s what does it—such sincerity, and kindness, and every other good thing meshed into one. He stares at Steve, at the expectant look on his face, waiting for an answer Tony tries to grasp and push it out into the open. He does, all the pent-up worries and anxiety of the months, forced out, slicing up his throat.

“That’s it, right there,” he says, looking away, from the twist of pain in his expression and sudden urge to lash out in frustration at himself. “You’re too good for me. Far, far too good, like if you were any more good or noble, you’d be the American flag, or an eagle, whichever one represents it better.” He sighs, and shoves a hand through his hair. “I am _not_ any of those things. Everybody says and thinks so, and they’re right.”

“No they’re not—”

“ _Yes._ They are. All my life I’ve been a playboy, a selfish dick, and _this,_ ” he takes a breath. “This can’t be real.”

Steve settles down next to him, and makes the right decision to not touch him. Not yet. “Why can’t this be real?”

“Because—“ He cuts off, dragging in a shaky gasp, and his eyes are burning, but he won’t cry, he _won’t._ “Because I don’t deserve you. This is my punishment. If I close my eyes, I’ll wake up from this dream, or nightmare, or whatever, and honestly, I don’t know which one is worse.”

He expects some lecture, or at least a speech of some sort, but instead, Steve cups his cheek and brings their mouths together. It’s sweet, and he leans into it, tasting the mint toothpaste and tang of coffee, and just as he fists a hand in Steve’s shirt, ready to strip it from his body, the kiss is broken.

His hand lingers on Tony’s cheek. “We’re going to go to bed—”

“Uh, yeah, _no._ Did you listen to a word I just said?”

“—together, and then, in the morning, you’ll see that I’m still here.” He presses another kiss to Tony’s mouth. “And you’ll also see that this isn’t a punishment.”

“What is it then?”

Steve shrugs. “Our life. Nothing more, nothing less.”

He purses his lips. “Touching, really, you should be a poet.”

Tony’s glad Steve laughs. “You deserve me, Tony—you deserve everything you think you don’t.”

It’s the last thing he says for the night, coaxing him into bed and curling himself around Tony. It’s not easy, doesn’t happen within seconds, nor some clarity moment or realisation that he'd been a fool, but he does sleep, as he focuses on the warmth of Steve’s skin and the soft kisses he pecks behind his ear. If this isn't real, it'd never been in the real world for so long.

Sleep lasts for two and a half hours.

To anyone, it’s not impressive, but to him it’s the longest he’s slept in years.

And he’s not so afraid to drift off again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Again—terribly sorry by this fic, if there's any typos and it's fast pace. Eek.


End file.
